


the drink you like, the poisons you do not

by braigwen_s



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: ....Friendship?, Ableist Language, Alcohol, Book: Feet of Clay, Friendly Enemies, Gen, Poisoning, References to Illness, Workplace, kinda gross
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28929816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braigwen_s/pseuds/braigwen_s
Summary: “How sick were you, really?” was not usually a wise opening statement to give the Patrician in his office, but Downey was not in the business of wisdom, merely the business of Death.Lord Vetinari gave a look that would have withered lesser men.  "Downey, why on earth would I tell you that?"
Relationships: Lord Downey & Havelock Vetinari
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	the drink you like, the poisons you do not

“How sick were you, really?” was not usually a wise opening statement to give the Patrician in his office, but Downey was not in the business of wisdom, merely the business of Death.

Lord Vetinari gave a look that would have withered lesser men. “Downey, I am not suggestible, and nor am I delirious. Why on earth would I tell you?”

“You are short-tempered, though,” he muttered, under his breath. Then he cleared his throat. “I am the only capable D-M* in the city who has a stake in ensuring you are not killed.” Without a contract, of course, went the unspoken half of that sentence. If he were killed with a contract, so much the better for the Guild, and none the worse for its leader – fifty percent Guild tax was quite a lot, when dealing with very large fees.

“Apart from me,” said Vetinari. He gestured to his drinks cabinet. It wasn't lost on Downey that he had declined to stand, or to walk the few steps over. “Do help yourself; if you had warned me you were dropping in I would have acquired some of the drink you like, along with the poisons that you do not, but we shall just have to make do, yes?”

As far as talk between Assassins went, this was positively good-natured; it was certainly a lot nicer than most of the discussions he’d had with the man in post-graduate study. And in graduate and undergraduate, of course. And well before they Took their Blacks. And, Downey had to admit, even during the current Patricianiate. Downey poured himself a measure of brandy, and one of the same for the Patrician. He handed it over as he returned to the seat in front of the Oblong Office desk. “I had no part in this affair,” said Downey, which was true, depending on how narrowly you classified ‘this affair’.

“Except for a framing of my Watch Commander,” said Vetinari, accepting the small glass tumbler. He didn’t drink until Downey, but that was not a safety mechanism; Downey was far too good a poisoner for that to be of any use. Even as it was, Downey could have sworn he did not actually take a sip, merely lifted the glass to hover next to his lips. He just didn’t drink much – and had liked Downey drunk and useless, back in the day, unless he very much misinterpreted. Not so unlike a Watch Commander.

“He punched me in the nose,” said Downey.

Vetinari smiled, at that, one of those infuriating little smiles he had perfected to go with his other superior expressions. “I know.”

Downey got the conversation back on its tack. “Doughnut Jimmy?”

Vetinari made a face. “What do you want me to say? That was Vimes’ decision.” Interesting. He was his Watch Commander – until the old ‘Veterinary’ joke came into play. Then it was merely the man’s surname.

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he admitted. There was always a certain freedom in speaking with Vetinari. They could both say things they wouldn’t tell other people. Be ruder. They might work together in the civic machinery of Ankh-Morpork, but there was a camaraderie, like it or not, that came from so many years spent within the walls of the same Guild. “Really – my lord. The fact that you survived our Dr Cruces’… _thing_ … was a gods-appointed miracle.” Even if it did leave you crippled, of course, went the unspoken half of the sentence; Death takes His pay. “It is in the best interests of ou – of _my_ Guild – for me to do all that I can to ensure our Patrician remains healthy.”

He did still look a bit sickly, but that was Vetinari for you. Look like the plague, plot with the rats. “I won’t lie to you, Downey,” said Vetinari, to the astonishment of both gathered. To further astonishment, he actually took a real sip of his brandy. It was nice stuff, aged well, better than both of them, probably. Definitely more ethically. “I still feel like _Panthera tigris_ micturition.”

Downey huffed. “Like tiger piss,” he translated. If Downey never let go of the ‘Veterinary’ or the… other nickname, the one it was not politically expedient to repeat even within his mind’s confines, Vetinari had never let up about tigers. “May I, my lord?” he asked, setting down his tumbler and holding both of his gloved hands up in an offer to check his heartbeat and his breathing and provide unwanted self-care advice that would definitely not be heeded.

“No, Lord Downey, you most decidedly may not,” said Vetinari. He finished his own tumbler with one swallow. His facial expression did not flicker. The man was a bloody masochist, Downey reminded himself.

“ _Cura te ipsum_ is very well and good for arsenic,” said Downey, chidingly, as if to one of his older students, “but horse laxatives are something else.”

Vetinari laughed. Downey rode that high for a whole week. That was something very rare to earn, and something he never had until both of them had well and truly finished with their Grand Sneers.

They were old enemies, after all – but in the Assassins’ Guild, that was one and the same as ‘old friends’.

**Author's Note:**

> *Doctor of Medicine; Dungeon Masters were quite different. For example, Lord Vetinari was both, but Lord Downey was most decidedly only the one. Teatime was also only the one, but the other other way around to Downey. Die and let die, et cetera.
> 
> Cura te ipsum = "Physician, heal thyself".


End file.
